


He Was Always Better With Words Than I

by Fizzingwizzbees14



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Gen, M/M, Swearing, Will add more as I go, mentions of abuse, mentions of depression, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:30:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fizzingwizzbees14/pseuds/Fizzingwizzbees14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick never died, and Simon still shows up with Amy. Shit happens</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With Tears In My Eyes I Begged You To Stay

“I feel,” Rick said, sinking down against the stall wall, “Like shit,”

 

            “Not surprised,” Kieren said, laughing slightly, leaning against the door, “We’re not allowed to drink, you know. Amy wasn’t lying.”

 

            Rick shook his head, “When was the last time I turned down a drink, Ren? Me dad’d ‘ave a fit.”

 

            Kieren let his head fall back, and didn’t say anything. Rick was hard to understand sometimes, but then, Kieren’s dad wasn’t like Bill. Kieren’s dad was nothing like Bill, nothing like any other dad Kieren had ever seen, “I ‘ave to get out of ‘ere, Rick.”

 

            Rick chuckled, “The smell ‘a sick gettin’ to ya, Ren?”

 

            He shook his head, even though Rick couldn’t see it, “Not- _here,_ Rick. _Roarton.”_

            He could practically feel Rick’s gasp-and-splutter, even if he couldn’t see it, “Whadaya mean, Ren?”

 

            “Berlin,” Kieren said, “Or Paris. Maybe Bruges. Even Edinburgh, for fuck’s sake.” The stall door opened, forcing Kieren to step back to avoid being in Rick’s personal space- he’s always doing that. Stepping back so Rick doesn’t step on his toes.

 

            “But, why, Ren?” Rick’s nose was all crinkled up like it was when he was confused, but mostly there was just hurt in his eyes. _You can’t leave me with him,_ those eyes said, _You can’t you can’t._

            Kieren picks at the left sleeve of his brown jumper, “What am I doin’ ‘ere, Rick? I can’t be stuck pulling pints in the bloody Legion for the rest ‘a me-“ he stops himself from saying life, “ _Forever.”_ Rick takes a deep breath, nods. Excepting.

 

            “When are you thinkin’ ‘a going?”

 

            “Soon,” is all Kieren can say, “I guess soon.”

 

            Rick nods again, and then Bill comes blundering in, and Kieren hides in the stall next to Rick.

 

            “Oi, lad,” Bill says, “Comin’ out?”

 

            “Aye, dad,” Rick says, but when Bill leaves he pokes his head around the stall door, “Ren, comin’ out?”

 

            Kieren smiles, “Not just yet.” Rick smiles at him, and walks out.

 

            Kieren wants to be anywhere other than the second to the left bathroom stall in the Legion.

 

################################

 

“So you’ll come?” Amy asks, jumping up and down excitedly on her

tiptoes, “And you’ll meet him? You’ll love him, honest.”

 

“If he’s anything like you, I don’t know how I’ll be able to avoid it,” Simon smiled at her, and went back to arranging little vials of neurotryptaline, “I’ll wait outside, though. We’re not there to cause a scene.”

 

“Never thought I’d hear you say that, Mr. Disciple.” Amy hugged in from behind, and Simon leaned back into it. Honestly, he hadn’t been hugged half as much before he’d met Amy, and it was nice. Even if it could be slightly spontaneous at times (some accidents had occurred, which included That Time Simon Almost Fell Over Because A Small Northern Girl Surprised Him, and what the 8th Disciple Lin had called The Carbolic Incident of ’14, which Simon liked because it suggested that there had been more than one Carbolic Incident).

 

“We can cause a scene later,” he said, “Have to meet him first, don’t I?” Amy squealed and squeezed tighter.

 

“His mate might be there, though,” she said, suddenly serious, “Rick. Bit of a bollock, if you ask me, but I don’t think Kieren minds,” she let him go, “Half an hour, then?”

 

“Yeah,” Simon said. He wondered if Amy Expected Something. He wasn’t very good with people expecting things from him, especially if they involved getting on with a twat. He supposed that he could try, for Amy. He adored Amy. Everyone adored Amy- there wasn’t really a way to get around it, she got under your skin.

 

He remembered when he first met her- Rob had brought her in, all slathered in make-up and cover-up under that- it’d only taken a few days for her to become comfortable around them. She’d made fast friends (Ethelyn and Silvia, the girls she shared a room with, especially) and she was smart- learned how to make neutrotrip in a couple hours with Simon teaching her (he’d become honorary chemist because of his… background. At least, that was the reason Julian had given him, Simon thought it was just because no one else wanted to do it).

 

And for that reason (condensed into the single sentence of Anything For Amy), he was standing outside the local pub, leaning against someone’s muddy car and waiting for her to come out.

 

The door of the Legion opened, and he turned his head around to see who it was, but when it was someone who definitely was a) not the Bambi-twink-ish looking boy Amy had shown him pictures of a b) not Amy, he turned back around and went back to scuffing the dirt with his feet.

 

“’Scuse me,” he hears someone say from behind him, “Your- uh- sittin’ on me car.”

 

Simon turns around completely then, and would’ve blushed if he could, “Yeah, sorry,” he bites at his lip. What do you say to someone whose car you’d just been leaning against? He’d never really been in this situation before, “Good night?”

 

The man nodded, “Just gettin’ me dad’s wallet, he left it.” Simon looked back down at the ground and started scuffing the dirt with his feet again. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, however, and looked up, only for the man to look back towards The Legion, “You a friend ‘a that girl’s then? Amy?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he brushes his hair back from his face, “You know her?”

 

“Me mate Ren does, yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Simon says, “Kieren.”

 

“Oh, great, he’s met Rick,” someone says from the door. Amy is there, tugging a boy with big brown eyes and skinny jeans down to meet him.

 

“Simon,” Amy says, “This is Kieren. Kieren this is Simon. And you’ve already met Rick.”

 

“Not formally,” he says, holding his hand out for Rick to shake. Rick takes it, throws him a tight but sincere smile, and nods.

 

“Gotta be gettin’ back,” he gestures to The Legion, “You clocked off, Ren?”

 

“Yeah, Rick,” it’s the mundane correspondence of two people who’ve known one another for years, but it fascinates Simon, the way Rick’s hand trails down the small of Kieren’s back, and Kieren doesn’t even turn his head or wave goodbye. It’s tense, but sweet, and real, and Simon is suddenly very lonely.

 

“Well,” Kieren says, “Nice meeting you. See you tomorrow, Amy?” Amy nods, promises to see him some time later, and leans close to Simon when Kieren is walking a way ahead of them.

 

“What do you think?” Amy asks, “He’ll say more when you see him next.”

 

Simon nods, “I’ll bet he will.”

 

################################ 

 

“He’s a _zombie rights activist,”_ Kieren said, shading in the rhino he was

drawing, “He’s going to start some shit. And, honestly, I can’t decide if that’s good or bad,”

“He seemed nice,” Rick replied, twisting a paintbrush around in his hand, “Shy.”

 

Kieren giggled, “Well, you know him better than I do. Do you like his accent as much as I do?”

 

“I don’t know,” Rick said, smiling, “He didn’t really say much,” that was a lie. Irish accents were seductive as _fuck._

 

Kieren shot him a knowing look, rolled his eyes, and tipped is head back so it hit against the headboard. Rick could see all the muscles in Kieren’s long neck, watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. He didn’t register that Kieren was talking until he said his name.

 

“Are you listening?” Kieren asked, patient and smiling. God, Rick loved him. God, what sweetness. Rick nodded.

 

“Well, I was saying, I don’t know if Amy should trust him. I mean, the ULA?”

 

Rick picked at the hem of his yellow shirt, “Yeah. But, you know, Amy can take care of herself, I think. And he didn’t look that bad. He was wearing a jumper.”

 

“Jumpers to not equal peacefulness. And he’s, like, three inches taller than you.”

 

“You’re already two inches taller than me. I don’t see _you_ going off and killing people.”

 

Kieren huffs and packs up his stuff, “I’m just worried. She keeps saying things like that they’re going to get married, and how _in loooove_ she is, and I just keep thinking that maybe he’s leading her on,” he stands and stretches his legs, “He sounds interesting, though. I’m going over now to see Amy, tell her about Paris,” the conversation they’d had earlier about Kieren leaving had involved Rick getting quite uppity and threatening to walk out _(“Don’t go now,” Kieren had said, “I’m only staying a few more days, don’t go.”)_ and ended in Kieren curled up on his bed drawing, and Rick sitting in the chair next to the desk, watching him.

 

“You can come and see you’re sexy Irish beau if you want,” Kieren said, teasing.

 

“Haha,” he replied, sarcastically, “I have to go see me dad. I was only supposed to be gone a couple hours, anyway. I’ll see you off tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, Rick. See ya,” Kieren left, and with him the light.

 

################################ 

 

Kieren hadn’t really spoken to Simon. With what Amy had said about

him, he wasn’t anything overly extraordinary. (“He’s really poetic. His favourite is Yeats, he said.”). He sounded pretentious, in Kieren’s opinion, but Amy liked him.

 

“So, uh,” Kieren said, biting his lip, “You’re in the ULA?”

 

Simon was sitting on the couch. He’d been reading, when Kieren arrived, and told him that Amy was getting ready.

 

“Yeah. Ever considered joining?”

 

Kieren chortled slightly, without humour, “Nah. Not my scene, really,” _Scene?_ He thought, _Am I honestly getting flustered around this fucking twat?_

“What I would’ve said before I joined,” Simon said, picking at the cover of Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s _Crime and Punishment,_ “But I understand. Living somewhere like this, it makes sense not wanting to get involved with that stuff.”

 

“Yeah,” he scowled inwardly to himself, “No! It’s not- Roarton, I mean I’m leaving tomorrow, I won’t join then, either.”

 

Simon looked up quickly, catching his eye, “You’re leaving?”

 

            “Yeah.”

 

            “I’m sorry to hear that, Kieren,” He sounded sincere. The way he said Kieren’s name would’ve had his heart racing in his chest, if he had a heartbeat.

 

            Amy appeared from around the corner, “Look at you, chatting away,” she smiled, gleeful, “Want to go for a walk?” Kieren nods, walks to the doorway, and stops, turns back to Simon.

 

            “Do you think I should? Leave I mean?” _Why am I asking this wanker for an opinion?_  
  


            “I think it might not be leaving, so much as running away,” the other man says, playing with the silver St. Disibod medal around his neck, “But getting away from places like this is good. Healthier to be gone from somewhere that makes you unhappy than stay when no one’s gonna do anything about it,”

 

            “Not gonna- I could do something. I just rather not end up dead somewhere, that’s all.”

 

            “Yeah,” Simon nods, “But it’s just easier to get away from it than face it, that’s all. Not to offend you, or anything.”

 

            Kieren nods, because he’s right, but he’s still pissed off, so he says, “Maybe it’s better not doing anything than killing people to make a statement.”

 

            “Those attacks weren’t ULA,”

 

            “They sure did look like them,”

 

            “Well, how many people died in that tram attack?”

 

            “Five. One of them was my next-door neighbor. Or, he used to be.”

 

            “I’m sorry to hear that. But there are atrocities that happen on both sides. The Ravenshead massacre. A man went on a shooting spree in his hometown. Shot ten Undead people in the head. He got five years. Because the judge said that Partially Deceased people were only half a person.”

 

            “Well, I don’t agree with that either,”

 

            Amy appeared behind him, looked at him with big eyes that said, _Don’t cause trouble._

“The ULA is about protecting people. Because no one else is going to.”

 

            “You can keep it to yourselves, thank you. This place has enough issues without you adding to them.”

 

            “Maybe we’re trying to help,”

 

            “Well, stop,” Kieren tries to breath deeply, “Amy, come on,”

 

 

################################

 

“You were very rude, Kieren,”

 

            “ _He_ was rude.”

 

            “ _He_ was telling the truth. You know he was telling the truth, Kieren.” He nods. Simon was telling the truth. He felt bad for going off on one- Rick and Amy and France had him fucking up the wall- but mostly he just wanted to get out.

 

            “I’m leaving, tomorrow, Amy.”

 

            “What?” she looked absolutely scandalized, “Where?”

 

            “Paris,” he said, hands shoved deep in his pockets, “Jem says because I’m an artist.” She shook her head.

 

            “You can’t go. Why would you do that?”

 

            “Have to get out of here. Rick and Bill, and everything, it’s just-“ he pauses, shakes his head, “It’s getting to me.”

 

            Amy just reaches out to hug him, and strokes his hair.

 

            Kieren doesn’t stop thinking about Simon until he goes to sleep, (he tries to pass it off as guilt for upsetting him, but in the end it’s the way his eyes flicker down shyly, and his hands trace the cover of that book, and the way his accent makes his name sound different. Kieren’s always been one for falling too fast).

 

 

 

 

           


	2. And it pits the world against us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am cherry-stained  
> teeth. You are  
> the absence of yes.  
>  \--Emily O’Neill, from “Wedding Soup” published in Ilk

The Macy house had never been a particularly happy one- Rick could remember being four or five and knowing that he shouldn’t talk to his dad on the bad days, knowing that he should stay in his little room with his little toy cars and wait for Mum to bring dinner up to his room, waiting, waiting, _waiting_ for someone to come and get him.

 He felt like he’d been waiting his entire life.

 Bill started hitting him at eight, but Rick knew he’d been hitting Mum for longer than that- knew to listen for the signs, knew the way her hands shook and how she put an extra layer of make-up on in the morning. Bill started hitting him around the time Mum stopped trying to hide the bruises.

 

He knew things had gotten better after he’d died- Mum had tried to say that he’d just mellowed out, but Rick knew it was because he’d always caused the upset the first time around.

_(“He’s a fucking man! He’ll bloody well act like one!”_

_“He’s just a boy, he’s just-“ and nothing)._

He knew during the Rising Bill had led the HVF, led Jem Walker _(14, shit scared, Ren’s little sister, Ren’s **little** sister) _in a fucking _war,_ didn’t stop to look around and see the causalities, didn’t wait to see how hurt and alone he’d made someone who Rick had practically grow up. And after, now, still caught in cross fires.

 

It’s easy, to live, while things are quiet around Roarton. Easy to sneak to Kieren’s under the guise of buying new cigarettes (never liked them, never liked the way they made his lungs tight and his throat close up- relishes in the way he can smoke without spluttering now). He likes watching Ren draw, even though before it’d creeped him out a little how Ren could take something from life, something real with blood and bone and tendon and spit, and put it down on paper and somehow make it keep those things. A man in a straw hat (Ren says it’s Van Gogh, but Rick’s seen pictures, and he knows the way his nose arches and falls is different, notices the way the hat hides half the man’s face- he stares at it for a very long time, only realizes after he comes back how similar the shape of the mouth is to Ren’s), a woman who looks like she’d controlling the wind with flowing green hair and red eyes, trees full of leaves, like a dark canopy, blotting out the crackling thunder sky. Wonderful, terrifying, brilliant- Ren was all those things, and Rick couldn’t tell if it scared him or excited him, the way his breath went bent at the sight of him wearing fuzzy slippers, looking like uncorrupted goodness in the afternoon sunshine- Rick swears the only reason he keeps waking up in the morning is so he can watch the way his knees bend, see his face when he smiles, trace the sea-shell edge of his ear.

 

“I’m not like you,” Kieren says, “I can’t hide behind me dad,” Rick loves how blunt he’s become in death (in second life), loves how his nose twitches when phantom itch invades it, like it is now, “Bill protects you. I mean, obviously, he doesn’t, but he has a reputation. And people like Gary, they know that, so they put all the things they think are wrong with you to the back of their mind so they can live in relative peace with Bill,” he traces the lines around a drawing of someone’s shoes. Rick nods, agreeing.

 

“I can’t protect you from people like Gary, Ren. I wish I could, I can’t.”

 

Kieren just shakes his head sadly, smiles, “Train station. Coming?” The way Ren’s knees bend say he doesn’t have a choice.

 

 

Amy links arms with him, and Rick is left to trail behind. He doesn’t

mind, that particular pair of trousers makes Ren’s arse look spectacular- but Amy’s trying to convince him to stay. She had four times as much guts as Rick, and triple the snark.

 

            “I’m not trying to be funny or anything,” Rick interrupts, “But shouldn’t you be getting your ticket?” Ren smiles at him, thankful and consistently forgiving, and walks up to the ticket booth.

 

            “Single to the airport, please.” Kieren asks. The ticket man looks up at Kieren, and then Amy, and to Rick, and sees Amy, bare faced, and Rick, with that unhealthy orange glow the cover up gives you, and asks:

 

            “You Partially Deceased?”

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            “I can’t sell you a ticket,” in his credit, the ticket man does look a little remorseful, “You’ll have to wait here.”

 

He shuts the window with Kieren still banging on the glass, and Rick gets a feeling of uneasiness (the same he had when he got on that train to Preston, without having said goodbye, the same feeling he got when he heard that _Bang!_ for the split seconds before he didn’t feel a thing).

 

 

            Simon is sitting in the middle of the semi-large crowd, Amy and Kieren and Rick having gathered at the front. Philip is trying his best to contain people- Connie Furnace going on about a bridge game, Freddie Preston complaining, everyone- Simon sits there placid, the raise in his brow says _Didn’t you expect this?_ And Rick can see the twitch of irritation in Kieren’s fingers- from being held in Roarton again, or from Simon being so perfectly correct, he can’t tell.

 

            The video was just about as patronizing as it could have been- Rick sneaks a look over his shoulder, and Simon catches his eye- just rolls his eyes at him, but Rick has to turn away smiling. 

 

 

            “That Martin bitch,” Bill says, cigarette dangling from his lips, beer in hand, “I’ll ‘ave her arse.”

 

            Rick shakes his head, ”It’s not her, Dad. It’s- her bosses, or something. She’s working for Victus-“

 

            “And I voted for those bastards,” Bill’s caught in the throes of anger. Rick wonders if Mum will come and talk with him tonight, until Bill is fast asleep and dead the world. That’s what she used to do when he was younger- 8 and shaking, Dad just caught him helping Mum make pudding (Angel Delight, from scratch, strawberry flavour, his favourite)- and they used to talk about TV (He’d talk for hours about Doctor Who- still could, even though Kieren stopped watching after David Tennant left) and books (Mum’s favourite has always been 1984- Rick’s never read it, but Mum’s English degree has her talking on and on for a while about symbolism he doesn’t entirely understand) and cars and school. Sometimes Rick wishes that Bill had left (like all those times he’s threatened to) and it was just Mum and him.

 

            He used to think about what it was like- he could get a job, a real job (he’d always wanted to be a teacher) and Mum would never have to lift a finger again (that was a lie- he still didn’t get not mixing in colours, even after the army and having to do his own washing).

 

            “I’m going to The Legion,” Bill says, drawing Rick out of his thoughts, “Comin’?”

 

            He nods. Maybe he can see Kieren.

 

            Over the last few months, it’d calmed down a bit- maybe it was Kieren himself stopping trying to cause shit- he’d never really _tried,_ exactly, but he had, the bathroom mirror had the cracks to prove it- or maybe it was just assimilation, in the worst way, telling them the hide _hide **hide,**_ or die, or get lost, or become an anarchist (he finds himself wondering if Simon is an actual anarchist, or if he’s liberal, or a Communist, or a Socialist). He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about running away and joining the ULA- he had a romanticized version of it in his head that suggested a Les Mis type version of events- but it was Kieren who stopped him. Kieren couldn’t leave Jem, couldn’t leave his Mum and Dad- and Kieren didn’t want to. That’s what he thought before Kieren decided to go to Paris, at least. After that he wondered if he should just get on that train with him, run and run and run, until they find a place that becomes a home for them- but his Mum stopped him then. He couldn’t leave her alone, couldn’t run away with the residential ‘fag’ and go to France- Mum would end up dead, along with the Walkers, probably.

 

            Rick kind of wished he’d stayed dead- before, when he was with Kieren, they’d had fun. They’d had a laugh, until they didn’t. Now it was different. For some reason he could feel Bill’s eyes watching him whenever he was around Kieren, when he was laying around on Kieren’s bed, when he’s watching Kieren drag his paintbrush over paper (Kieren said his hands felt strange, now he was back, and that he couldn’t move pencils across paper like he used to- but Rick can’t see that when he watches, can only see the bird bones under Kieren’s skin, the knuckles bend and twist with every line and curve and broken promise he can put of paper and canvas [there was a time when Kieren would draw on anything. {That time passed and is gone}]).

           

__  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be a little short but I got writers block SO BAD. Rick-centric for somer reason? (I promise the next chapter with have Simon. Like POV Simon). I forgot in the last chapter that I made a promise so this is dedicated to my buddy Brynn (joshnewberry on tumblr). I hope you liked it (・∀・ )

**Author's Note:**

> Not the best, but you know I couldn't get this whole thing out of my head? Questions/comments/concerns are all welcome. Work title comes from The Song of Achilles, and chapter title comes from Twin Size Mattress by The Front Bottoms


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